


Wordless

by Aimryax



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet, During Canon, Falling In Love, M/M, No Dialogue, One Shot, Protective Price, Trans!Soap, also for trans soap in any fanfic i write hes trans, because hes a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimryax/pseuds/Aimryax
Summary: The lack of words did not bother the Russian much, he had found solace into the silence he had built for himself all the past years, they were unnecessary. and actions spoke louder.But when actions seem underwhelming yet the words deem overbearing, Silence was not an option.Or was it ?





	Wordless

**Author's Note:**

> **Yuri's physical appearance was re-done by me because the bald-head was too much a disappointment for me, So for Reference here's a sketch of him {prntscr.com/mvkttp}

Words; the conclusion of the process of speaking one’s mind.

One that was rendered to be as easily as powerful, and as easily as useless with the current events.

The sound of metal dragging across leather gloves made company for the Russian in the silent room; with the optional task of watching over the incapacitated man.

The pilot often jested with him; on how the inked man was very intimidating, even outside the field, answering with mere hums and short-bland words only, how everyone was on their edge around him due to the stone-cold aura Yuri held every so tightly to himself, not helping with his lack of empathy or communication with the others, enemy or ally.

The dead spoke louder then the living in any case.

Nikolai informed him that the men he assisted had the same ideals as him, simple and clear, going after Valdimir Makarov, a disavowed team of two, Captain John MacTavish, the man who was in critical condition, a very weak pulse that was under his fingertips as he injected the syringe; temporarily giving the man more red then the sheer whiteness of death.

The other was much older, Captain John Price, the man who guided the Loyalist Commander with a strict and stern voice through the mess of unfortunate events accompanied with the small minor inconvenience of almost drowning.

Yuri was a quite man, but the Scotsman had coaxed him to not be.

The constant sound of the electronic machines filled the silence of the room instead of the knife that did so in the previous days; all narrowing down to an injured body that twitched ever so often, a Mohawk tucked directly under the Russian’s chin, the tired body with the high chance of constant buzzing in mind from all the morphine, took Yuri’s chest as his new comfort with relaxed shoulders.

Inked fingers slowly trailed on scarred skin ever so hesitantly; following the gentle rhythmic of the Scotsman’s breathing, the sunlight seeping shyly on them along with its dust, showing off a bandaged back with plenty of scars adorning it.

Only with the excuse the Russian had told himself-and the man making his heart beat faster then it should have, that the white bandages were too stained and old with blood and dust; to cut off the moment of serenity they shared temporarily.

Yuri should have been more alert, to have stopped it before it tangled to the point of hopelessness.

The subtle movement of the other’s fingerless glove ever; brushing over his own mostly gloved one on occasional times, Shot up sparks to his spine and made Yuri’s thinking process stutter for a moment from the words, pictures and careful planning spread out on the table where they sat; rough fingers caressing _just_ for a moment before resuming to their default state of staying still, Soap not even looking differently then he was, the only sound filling between the gaps was the sound of the disavowed older captain scribbling; Not paying attention to his protégé’s rather lack of decency.

But the Russian knew that the Scotsman was anything but an incautious person or inattentive, He knew Soap was listening very closely and thinking non-stop about everything at once; Yuri saw that back hunched down; writing in a journal that was held with so much care and _caution_ more then the gun that the older man had held, the light illuminating sad eyes that often thought of the dead more then he should have with trembling hands that shook from wounds that were far from the physical one.

Field-wise; Yuri didn’t need the ex-captain to tell him that his hate for Makarov was not purely professional, Sometimes the pen in his hand snapping or the too aggressive shuffling of papers, Soap was always bent on his goals, dragging himself even if his body _screamed_ at him not to; to prove that he can still stand and fight, that the Scotsman was recovered enough to get back while he was not.  
What Nikolai told him of the Scotsman’s and the Britain’s relationship was as useful as a Knife without its edge; as Yuri witnessed the outraged younger man pushing away anyone who attempt to assist him; let himself be carried out by the older captain back to rest with a sombre aura.

But Personal-wise; the Russian still had his...

 _Uncertainties_ , He had no words to describe what they both had since Soap had entered the land of the wake; the Scotsman was charismatic, if Yuri has to pick an English word for him, it would be _charming_ ; the lopsided grin along the humorous eyes that made Yuri’s mouth twitch, that made Yuri willingly be led back; gave the impression that the Russian was but a distraction or a for Soap during these hard times, physically or emotionally otherwise.

Yuri was not unused to emotionally-detached contact; but for him, this was different.

He told himself that words were quite unnecessary, that actions often spoke louder then words, But such things can be overbearing to say yet overwhelming to carry out.

The young years where one should have been taught tenderness; Yuri was taught _hardship_ where any room for emotion would indicate inefficiency and weakness, Where the Russian was appalled at himself for breaking years of constant hardening, at the slip of a voice crack, a twitch of his face or an arm tensing up as it held a body way too closely.

Even if the strain on his voice and heart can be too much for the newly cracking part in him, all caused by a _specific Scotsman_ ; Yuri would not dare to speak out about anything, Even if the thought of such emotions not being reciprocated in remotely a similar way caused an unpleasant feeling he wanted to claw out of his heart and assure by any means.

But to the Russian’s dismay, he had discovered that they fit in too well in a way that would be interpreted as odd and maybe even impossible, they were not opposites yet they were not that similar either; It was not the overlapping ideals that brought them together but neither was it entirely lustful or purposeless where they shared intimacy, where the Scotsman smiled and the Russian found himself doing the same; they fit too well in many aspects.

Aspects that were grew out from the surface and took a strong hold on a softened heart. 

An inked back rested on hard mattress, the weather being too unfamiliar to his cold body; in contrast of the figure that his eyes lingered on, the figure sitting upright on the side of the bed, the grey fabric of the shirt giving the indication of movement; probably tying his shoelaces.

The times of Soap reaching out for Yuri increased as their relationship progressed into another stages; for either private company or for silent comfort-It was the latter, where the Scotsman would lay next to Yuri on bed and have a one-sided conversation. Sometimes, he spoke back.

It was a break for Soap as well, his voice much lighter, gentler and less sad then most of the time, tensed up posture relaxing and expression eased as he rambled about whatever. The bags under the Scotsman’s eyes were not a strange sight; staying up to de-assembling and assembling his gun, check the layout of their plans and its contents for hundreds of times; all weighting down and the dark lines under his eyes were all but a glance of the heavy burdens Soap often carried.

Yuri thinks it should be a strange sight, but he found the Scotsman endearing nonetheless.

Sometimes he would come and simply lay down next to the Russian with a comfortable silence drifting between them. Sometimes he would entwine fingers with inked ones ever so loosely, not strong enough to hold on but not weak enough to let go. Sometimes he would get closer and rest the heavy weight of his head with over-thinking on exposed skin, feeling the Scotsman’s smile against his neck.

The figure moved; seemingly in alert of the pair of eyes that remained too long on his back, turned around, facing the Russian. Icy-tired eyes facing melancholic blue ones.  
Yuri instantly feeling uneasy with ever-so-often undeserving gentleness he felt directed at him, so he averted his gaze away.

Sometimes Yuri thought of questions far beyond the violence, beyond the war, beyond the bars; Both physical and mental ones-but he felt it was too much of a wild _dream_ to even think of.

But he’s proven wrong again, by a familiar rough hand that Yuri felt on every inch of him; caressing the inked stripes on his face that held so many secrets that the Russian knew that the smile that radiated ever so brightly; would falter if Soap knew what the ink emended on his skin meant.

But the smile had a set of eyes looking at him in a way...

 _At him_ , from all people.

A gentle set of lips touched his with the softest of sounds; feeling his heart being a little lighter and losing himself to the sensation against all logic, giving in to his heart as an inked arm rose up to hold a shaved scalp and pull the man closer.

Yuri wished the hand on the middle of his chest was accidental, that it happened to rest there on his heart; but he knew it was as much accidental as the very same touch the Russian did on the Scotsman’s heart.

Yuri closed his eyes before anything threatens to fall out of them, He should have been more alert. But he had fallen in too deep by his own doing.

John was careful; but Price was more observant then an owl.

But even so, the Scotsman can be sometimes...not so subtle.

The Russian had felt the burning _sneer_ before he could see it for himself, as he felt both the weight of John’s head on his shoulder and the direct stare into his eyes from the older man in opposite of him in the tight area of the helicopter.

Eye contact was maintained with the older captain, If he looked away then he will be guilty; and very possibly thrown out of the helicopter with no second thoughts. Price’s eyes bore into his, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval and his lips making a very thin line under that beard; Even the hat could not hide the intense stare.

It was not disapproval at them, it was disapproval at _him_.

Those eyes then switched attention, directing them to the younger of the three, But now filled with a mixture of anger that is of protectiveness; one that he saw the old  
man occasionally gave to his protégé as John over-pushed himself or made a risky call. Yuri felt the head shift slightly on his shoulder, the Russian feared no man; but that does not mean he was reckless to play with the fire-storm sitting a few meters away.

So when the head shifted even closer to him, Yuri only prayed to his fear that he would make it relatively unharmed until the ground, Feeling the tension between both of Price and his _pseudo-son_ as they debated silently with glares; Price ultimately gave up with a huff and took a cigarette out of his pocket for the moment.

Yuri knew that this was far from the end of it.

The only thing that came in between of Price’s hands and his inked throat was the Scotsman. Even if the walls were not thin, the voices of his comrade and John were very audible rooms away, or more of constant shouting. A deep voice with a heavy accent that could rival his and Nikolai’s, And a surprisingly even angrier strict voice that was laced with another emotion; one Yuri is too scared of the mere thought of it.

Both toned down towards the end to quite words that Yuri could no longer make out. The Russian could barely pick up a few words from here and there but his best guess that it ended somewhat moderate, hence Price did not smash something and his heart is beating where it should be. This was somewhat settled.

His ears picked up footsteps. Then his arms later caught a body practically crashing into his, Inked arms wrapped immediately around the figure Yuri had started to mesmerise; Tired arms loosely wrapped around his own waist and he felt the Scotsman’s exasperated sigh on his chest.  
He noticed the way John acted around him; with him huffing out like a child who had gotten a scolding from their parent, Or in this case, Price, Yuri could not keep the light chuckle in. John was reason yet he could be so stubborn about things, things he deemed to be worth of fighting for, and that seemed to include Yuri as well.

John was too-trusting, his judgement blinded at times, Even recalling Price telling his protégé of an old matter and how John was still _shaken_ from the betrayal and the loss of a heart. The same matter was happening again; the proof was the one who the Scotsman let himself be held so closely now.

The man in his arms had raised his head to inquire about the reason behind Yuri’s laugh, Before the Scotsman got the chance to do so, Yuri kissed the top of his forehead, right above the jagged scar before holding John closer, The arms around his waist tightened; Holding on very strongly and not letting go with a hum of satisfaction.

Yuri held the Scotsman even more tightly then the man himself; John did not speak a single letter yet he knew that Yuri will do what he wanted. A part of him gave up on reason altogether.

A part of him screamed of _tragedy_ , but another whispered of _hope_.

The Russian knew one of the pages of the journal held the smallest of details of his face in a way that seemed messy; but John had only smiled in response when the Russian had asked him about it while trailing fingers down the Scotsman’s back, but he gave no answer. As much as Yuri respected John’s privacy, he could not help but wonder about it.

Yuri knew that physically, he was an object of interest to the Scotsman in another way; he saw John tracing his figure in focus of every scar and every rough part of him, hands gently revisiting the artwork of his back or his chest silently with awe at the symmetry of them and the person who was a canvas to them. Sometimes a gentle touch of his lips traced the more jagged lines of hastily done ink in hard conditions of imprisonment, sending shivers up Yuri’s spine from his own sense of _vulnerability_.

So when his eyes had opened up from the slight movement and heard the sound of thick paper closing together and Icy-eyes coming into view, obviously trying to hide the glint between them; Yuri _knew_.

The Church brought up back unpleasant feelings of the past, Unsettling aura, flimsy wooden benches and cold chains. His shoes spread out on the black-and-white cold tiles, His drying clothes barely giving Yuri enough warmth for his body to not shiver in disagreement.

The metal rods stood up as an unfinished work of construction of the church’s walls, Where his back had touched them and the shaved part of his undercut touched the ice-cold metal, Not that Yuri was unused to such conditions, He had seen worse in Russia. Some members of the resistance sat with their heads bent down, maybe holding a very close necklace that held so much faith; many died.

Yuri stared at his hands that were lingering in-front of his sight, the inked crosses perking out in-between black sleeves and black gloves, the atmosphere had called to him for a murmur of recited words of a prayer; the Russian would have gladly done it but he felt it was not his place. Regardless, Yuri resorted to reciting the words under his breath while leaning his head backwards.

The action only made him feel more hollow like the weather of Prague, merciless winds carrying out the screams of the dead and the living combined. The Russian shook his head in disbelief, But the press of the slightly warmer body next to him eased away any of undesired thoughts; Heavy fabric touching with the slightest of frictions with the movement of the Scotsman’s arm as he sketched out the layout of their radius, blue-eyes then trailed up to his face.

The Mohawk slightly messy, perhaps even _wavy_ -from the water, a painted face scrunched in both anticipation and concentration, even with the weak light; Yuri can see every edge and surface of that face as if it was in perfect lightning, every scar and every curve, as if it was from memory.

Maybe it was, Or it is.  
Yuri rested his head gently on the Scotsman’s shoulder with several intentions; one was to peak into the journal, _just_ a small glance that is all to satisfy his curiosity. But John Immediately caught on, he huffed and shook his head in amusement at the rather silly move before instantly shutting the journal and putting it back on one of his front pouches.

While John’s figure slid down on the ground instead of the tensed up stance; the Russian’s head remained on the Scotsman’s shoulder for the meantime, only light and thunder indicating the pace of time, both men looking out of slightly cracked window in silence.

They were not an odd sight, For some had gathered around for warmth; but the dry feeling of _uncertainty_ returned as John did not move and remained upright, and the feeling kept on scratching as Yuri could not see what expressions the Scotsman had.

But after a few seconds, the Russian felt the familiar soft weight on his own head along with a sigh, an exhausted one. From this; _all of it_.

The sound of the harsh rain was soothing for once, for both of them; For they would face an unknown fate tomorrow, a loss or a win the possibilities expanded to the abyss, a lot of _whats_ and _ifs_ hanging onto a very thin thread that could snap at any given moment.

Yuri tilted his head from the scarf to see John; as he was hidden out of the sight of his blue eyes-looked at the Scotsman, the Russian felt his breath shutter at the sight; the yellow light of the candles in contrast of the dead night reflected an even bigger fire in those ice-cold eyes, Set on _one_ thing.

But the same igniting eyes in determination had closed softly as the Scotsman had confided comfort in Yuri and opened again in a much softer shade, but set one the man beside him, Even with the light kiss given at the side of his face, It had sent warmth into his heart.

He looked at Yuri as if they had to face the world together; John would do so with the Russian by his side, hands entwined.

_They._

Yuri often wondered when did _they_ come into play; with every caress on a cheek, with every word that talked about the aftermath of all of this, with every hold of assurance.

Maybe John felt it, And he did too.

But Yuri would never voice such things, Just like he won’t voice out those words that were left ambiguous with their actions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading as this is my first published work here !! Jori was mainly inspired by a friend of mine and I started seeing them together so yeah !!


End file.
